


Kintsugi

by mikes_grrl



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ableist Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 10:46:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13145034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikes_grrl/pseuds/mikes_grrl
Summary: “Argent” was on the short list, had been for generations, since Eichen House had re-opened in the early 1950s as a “mental health institution”. If something went wrong, if one of the supernatural inmates escaped or just needed to be put down, someone called the Argents first.





	Kintsugi

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Herbeloved82](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herbeloved82/gifts).



> *slinks in with dark!fic* I feel kind of bad about this. Please note that I chose “author chose not to use warnings” because, well, not to be spoilery, but the story is kind of open-ended. If you are concerned about what I am carefully not warning for, please read the end notes or msg me on tumblr. 
> 
> Tagged for some minor ableist language, since the story is from Chris’s POV and he’s not the most socially sensitive kind of guy – I tried to keep a balance between remaining true to his voice and not being too offensive with it, but just so you know it’s here and there. And there is Gerard, so. :/
> 
> Let me know of any tags you think should be added. Thanks!
> 
> For Herbeloved82!!! Who gave me a pretty open slate for prompts, so there may have been a little stalking involved *shifty eyes* and also I threw in some personal headcanons for fun. I hope this does satisfy!

Chris had taken Dr. Fenris’s call earlier knowing exactly who he was calling about. He had hoped for a break from the murder and blood that seemed to inevitably spill between Argent and Hale when they clashed. He had hoped Peter Hale was finally locked away forever.

Most things he had hoped for in life were no more than broken promises.

Perhaps, he thought as he entered the building, he should take comfort in the fact that there were few left alive to know how broken he had become.

“Argent,” Dr. Fenris appeared in the lobby. “Lower levels, he’s still down there.” He sighed. “They all are.”

The lights flickered but stayed on. Chris raised his eyebrows.

“He’s inspired something of a riot. Let a few people free, but not all of them. We know he killed Valack first, but the video feed was cut off after that.”

Chris didn’t think he was imagining the relief in Fenris’s voice. Valack was a particularly disturbing to anyone who knew his full case file, and for a flicker of a moment, Chris felt a bit of gratitude to Peter. Or, more likely, what was left of Peter.

Chris set his duffle bag full of weaponry down on a bench and started arming himself.

Fenris frowned. “Where is your team?”

His “team”, for what it was worth, was motley crew of supes led by his dead daughter’s ex-boyfriend and a half-insane maybe-human sociopath (Stiles _claimed_ to be human, but Chris was withholding judgment). Banshees and kitsunes and werewolves, oh my.

Chris would rather take his chances alone. If he didn’t make it out alive, it wasn’t as if anyone would miss him, anyway. “They’re on the way.”

Fenris couldn’t sense a lie like a werewolf, but he didn’t look convinced.

Chris faced him as he strapped on his thigh holster. “I can either go down there now and get a grip on the situation, or we can wait another 45 minutes for all the high-schoolers to finish their homework.”

Fenris grimaced. “But the Sheriff…?”

Chris stopped and looked at the doctor. “One word: paperwork.”

Fenris grimaced even harder. “Fine. But if any of them escape or you get killed, I’m calling Sheriff Stilinski.”

“Thanks for your concern,” Chris snapped before grabbing the key Fenris held out to him and heading for the stairs.

\-------------

He gently closed the window behind him, boots in hand, skipping lightly over the den’s floor to avoid the squeaky boards.

“Chris!” Kate screeched at him, standing in the doorway to the living room. Chris startled so hard he nearly fell on his ass.

“She woke up crying and wanted to see you. Funny how you weren’t in your bedroom,” Chris’s father said with a smirk, appearing out of the gloom behind Kate, holding her back with heavy hands on her shoulders as she tried to squirm free.

“Chris!” Kate wailed.

“Let her go, Gerard,” Chris sighed, lowering himself down to the floor. Gerard relaxed his grip just long enough for Kate to launch herself forward. She was only six years old, but she could pack a whollop when she got her speed up, so Chris braced himself as she barreled into his arms.

“Where were you?” She said, sniffling but holding back tears.

“Out with some friends, Katie-pie.” Chris cuddled her, running a hand up and down her back. She did not let him soothe her much anymore, not since Gerard had started her training the year before, but it was well past midnight and she was too tired and too upset to try and appease their father.

Gerard leaned against the doorjamb. “Out with friends, huh?” His expression was jovial, but his eyes glittered with their own internal darkness. Chris sometimes wondered if the man was actually deranged, but always pushed the thought way, the implications too damning.

“Yeah.”

“The kind of friends who give other fiends hickeys?”

Chris slapped a free hand over his neck, but said nothing. He learned a long time ago that the only way to survive an interrogation unscathed was to keep his mouth shut.

Gerard studied him in silence before letting out a heavy sigh. “Gotta sow your oats, I suppose. Won’t change the schedule, though, don’t give a damn if you’re hungover or not.” He stood up straight and walked away. “Put your sister to bed. We roll out at 0-600, I need you both dressed for a long day in the mountains. I got another lead on that pack.”

“Yes, sir,” Chris said quietly, glad that Katie was already drifting off to sleep in his lap.

“I hate werewolves,” she mumbled into his chest.

“I know you do, kid,” Chris replied just as softly, unable to agree, but unable to explain why to his six-year-old sister.

\-----------

Chris knew exactly who and what were on the supernatural floor. The institution had always given the Argents a full list so that if anything escaped they would know what they were hunting.  Despite its reputation as a thriving hive of villainy, Eichen was only built to house less than twenty supes. In the end, there was rarely reason to let a rabid beast live. If Chris had his way, half of them would already be dead.

The lights kept flickering as Chris unlocked the first and then second heavy doors leading to the floor, their electrical locks disengaged. He locked them behind him before stashing the key in a small hidden pocket, just in case.

The unit had the same look as any other medical facility, sterile and beige and impersonal. The only difference, really, was the noise. The sounds of unhuman animals reverberated through the walls and bounced off the scuffed tile floors. There were screams and squeals and growls, and it all mixed together into a raucous roar. It was impossible to locate by sound, at least for human ears, because everything was coming from all directions. Chris pulled out his revolver and held it up, not aiming at anything but ready for everything as he stepped forward into the empty corridor, the lights continuing to flicker overhead.

The most dangerous creatures were, of course, the three werewolves normally kept under lockdown. While all the creatures kept at Eichen were lethal at some level, few were naturally inclined to kill unless driven to it or driven insane. The werewolves, though, had a taste for it.

Especially Peter.

The first door he passed was broken open, the distinctive slime of a kappa trailing over the floor. It had probably gone to the sewers, or tried to. Chris half expected it to be sitting in a toilet bowl, crying, because Frank was nothing if not pathetic and had mostly laid on the floor sliming and crying since Gerard and Chris had brought it there over ten years ago. The sad and disturbed little river imp was not one of the ones Chris needed to worry about.

He crept forward, one steady step at a time, his gun held at the ready with the safety off.

The second unit was also torn open, the electric locks having failed a while ago. Chris went in, making sure he could not be trapped inside but wanting to verify that nothing was hiding. He stopped and cursed softly, the sound lost amid the wails and growls and howls that still filled the air. Frank was torn apart, slime and blood in equal measures pooling around what was left of his body.

“Ah, damn it, you stupid slug, you should have stayed in your hole.” Chris sighed the reprimand like a benediction, knowing it was all the poor kappa was going to get, in the circumstances. Fenris wouldn’t let a chance to dissect go by.

“Pathetic little beast.”

Chris whirled around but his gun was slapped out of his hand by the werewolf who had snuck up on him. He cursed himself for getting distracted, for being sentimental.

“Thing did not even put up a fight,” the werewolf huffed through his sharp teeth, motioning at Frank’s remains.

“Lance.” Chris nodded.

The werewolf grinned. “So you do remember me.”

“Hard to forget. Should have put you down when I had the chance.” Chris held his hands out to the side. He had several more guns strapped to him, as well as wolfsbane oil coated knives. He just need to keep Lance talking long enough to think of a distraction.

“Can’t touch me!” Lance sing-songed as he walked up and grabbed Chris by the neck. He dragged him out to the hallway where another werewolf, nearly fully shifted but huddled in a lopsided crouch, was waiting. Chris fought at Lance’s hand, hoping to at least get a chance to take another breath, but then he was sailing through the air. He barely had time to prepare before he slammed into a wall and slumped down to the ground in a heap.

He looked up and right into the other werewolf’s eyes. One was red and the other blue, both shining bright while her greyed, wrinkled muzzle hung open crookedly, drool slipping out and falling to the ground.

“Tanya. Didn’t miss you at all,” Chris said as he pulled himself up off the ground, trying not to wince in pain shooting through the hip he had landed on. The not-alpha glared at him, her tongue lolling.

“Can’t fight us! Can’t cage us!” Lance yelled, dancing a little on his feet. No one knew what was really wrong with the guy, but his crazy was almost human-like, and uncommon for werewolves who generally did not suffer mental illnesses unless induced by severe brain trauma, and even then only rarely. But he was unbalanced and had a violent streak, so his pack had dropped him off at Eichen when he was seventeen. He had escaped three times since then, but not having actually killed anyone, he always got returned to Eichen instead of gunned down. Chris was regretting that a lot.

“You don’t want to hurt me, Lance.” Images of Frank flickered through his mind, and Chris wondered if Lance killed the kappa, or had simply watched as Tanya did the honors. Even odds, either way.

Lance clapped his hands, giddy with power. “Yes, I really, really do!”

Chris reached for the revolver tucked into the small of his back under his vest, but Tanya leapt and he went down under her with a thud, nearly cracking his right elbow on the floor. She knelt with her clawed hands pressing into his chest, giving him a slurpy growl. He kicked his legs out but she pushed down and he started having trouble breathing, the only thing keeping him from being shredded was his bullet proof and knife-resistant vest.

Just as quickly as she had pounced on him, she was gone. Before Chris could register what happened, a deep bone-rattling roar echoed around him and through his rib cage and into the depths of his beaten, blackened heart. He looked up but he already knew who he would see.

“Peter.” The name slipped out unbidden, too familiar.

The bright blue eyes of a monster peered down at him. “Christopher,” he said, the name a snarl of noise through sharp teeth.

Chris wasn’t ready to die, not really, but he always knew it would be Peter who killed him.

\-----------

 “Where the hell have you been for a whole damn week?” Peter snarled at him as he slammed the door shut behind them.

“Can we not?” Chris grumbled, stopping next to the bed and pulling his tee shirt up.

Peter’s hand snapped out and grabbed his wrist. “I’m not in the mood, Christopher.”

“Well if we aren’t here to fuck, what the hell are we doing?” Chris pushed Peter away from him, knowing full well that Peter let him. He sat on the edge of the hotel bed with his arms out. “What?”

Peter opened his mouth, then closed it before turning to go sit in one of the cheap vinyl-covered chairs by the door. He sprawled out and crossed his arms, glaring at Chris.

“Peter, we were in the fucking mountains for a week, okay? I was carting Katie around like a sack of potatoes because her new boots gave her blisters. My father had me doing all the grunt work as punishment. We barely stopped to sleep!”

“Hunting the Randolphs?”

“Yes.” Chris ground his teeth together.

“My sister gave them bus tickets to some place far away from Beacon Hills last Tuesday. Jesus Christ, you think we’d just let your father go slaughter them?” Peter growled, a slip of fang showing through.

“I don’t think it occurs to him that werewolves would act like decent human beings!” Chris snapped back. He took a deep breath.

“There was no proof that anyone from that pack killed that hiker. None. It’s northern California, sometimes a cougar attack is just a cougar attack! Your father just made up his mind and convinced your aunt of it because he likes to kill us.” Peter sat up and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. He looked earnest, as if trying to beam common sense into Chris’s brain with his beautiful blue eyes. “He’s insane, you know that, right?”

“I know it doesn’t matter because I can’t leave Katie in his hands. I can’t, Peter.” Chris rubbed his face just to hide away from Peter’s intense gaze for a moment.

“We can help you. Alpha’s a bastard but Talia would take you and Katie in, I know she would.”

“No! Look, right now the Hales are off Gerard’s radar. Hell, hunters know your pack is stable so there is no way he could pick a fight without Aunt Genevieve’s direct permission. Can we keep it that way? Because once he decides your pack is a problem…Peter, he’s dangerous. You’ve got to understand that.”

Peter rubbed at his face. “Alpha’s dangerous too.” He looked off into the distance, his eyes shining with conspiracy. Chris kind of hated himself for finding that sexy, but he had to put a stop to the insanity.

“Setting our fathers against each other is a bad idea, Peter. No matter how much you want your sister to be alpha.”

They were quiet and motionless until Peter sighed, getting up. He walked over and sat down next to Chris. “This is all going to end so damn badly.”

“For you or for me?”

“For us.” Peter pulled Chris into a hug and kissed his temple softly, as if they were something more than just lovers, as if maybe they had hope for the future. Chris felt his heart skip, and tried not to think too much about it.

\------------

These were not the games they played as boys. This was not the push and pull of lust and affection, it was Chris scrambling for room so he could draw his back up gun while the hulking beta form of a crazed, vengeful werewolf pawed at the floor with a heavy, clawed hand.

Lance and Tanya had disappeared down the hall, their howls wretched and joyful.

Chris finally rolled and kicked enough to get room to pull his gun from his back holster and level it at Peter’s face. “Scott’s on the way. I’d hate to have to explain to him why your brains are all over my shirt.”

Peter rolled his eyes. It was such a familiar gesture that Chris’s heart clinched for just a moment. Peter swatted the gun out of Chris’s hand with a hard thwack of bone on bone, the single shot Chris managed to get off going wide. His ears rang from the sound of it for a moment, long enough for Peter to pin his arms down at his sides and sit on his ass on Chris’s knees.

“It’s a Wednesday night, they have lacrosse practice and then homework. Fenris will not be eager to call the Sheriff if he thinks you can handle it.” His expression behind the fangs and electric-blue eyes was…calculating. His words were spoken calmly, his fangs barely hinting at a slur. Even with the beta shift he looked… _lucid_.

“Peter?” Chris squinted at him.

“Surprise!” Peter sat back and did ‘jazz hands’ his clawed fingers making a mockery of it.

Chris didn’t move from where he was sprawled out under the massive werewolf, but his brain was on high alert. “You planned this. You knew I’d come in alone.”

“Of course. We all know – _knew_ – the Argents are the clean up crew for this pit.” His eyes flared bright blue again, and Chris wondered when they had faded back to human because he hadn’t noticed. Peter growled, and Chris remembered that staring down a well-armed predator was not a smart move. Chris bared his teeth even as he looked off to the side, but stayed quiet. There was no reasoning with a mad man, much less an insane, psychopathic werewolf, and part of Chris’s mind just wanted it to be over. He had lost so much, he had suffered the deaths of everyone he loved – his precious _Allison_ – and he was just done. Scott, or more likely and far more ironically, Stiles would avenge him. Peter was not walking out of the building any more than Chris was.

But Peter was not currently killing him. He was crouched over Chris and staring at him, claws still loosely held to his throat, his nostrils flaring. Chris realized there was more noise coming from down the halls, screams and growls and the wet thumps of beasts fighting each other bloody.

Peter bent down and huffed into Chris’s ear. “We’re in lock down. I’ll kill those two before they escape.”

“Why?” Chris whispered, feeling as if they were held in a shroud of privacy.

“Why? Because they are murderous, feral _beasts_. Isn’t that reason enough, _hunter_?”

Chris nodded. This was Peter’s game, he was just along for the ride.

“You are the only thing that matters right now.”

“I feel so special.” Chris did his best to glare.

“You should.” Peter smirked at Chris, his hair too long, his breath too fouled. His fingers stroked Chris’s neck, claws barely scratching.

Chris nodded once. “Do it, then. At least have the courtesy to make it quick.” He had been there before, at Peter’s mercy, but this time he didn’t think Peter would just walk away and leave Chris’s death to chance.

“Now, why would I do that?” Peter cooed, one long claw scratching ever so gently tracing the artery down Chris’s neck. “I had to kill Valack quickly, it wasn’t easy to catch him off guard. But you? I can spare a few minutes. What should I do? What do you deserve?” His hand drifted down to Chris’s abdomen, claws punching through his bullet proof vest and into his skin, the sharp points drawing blood. “Gut you?” He wiggled his fingers then slid his hand back up to Chris’s neck. “I ripped your sister’s throat out with my teeth. But that was too good for an Argent. I was pressed for time.”

The pain made Chris’s body react to the danger at last, breaking the shred of control he had managed to cling to, and he shivered violently. Peter sniffed the air.

“Going to piss yourself, Christopher? Your fear is as sharp as vinegar.”

“Do. It.” He ground out the words through clinched teeth, every muscle tensed in anticipation of agony and death. Peter shrugged. Chris closed his eyes, frozen in place like the prey he was, waiting for Peter to lean down and put his canines to Chris’s throat.

\------------

Chris coughed up blood as he stumbled along the wall. He was crawling away from the fight, but he wasn’t proud and he didn’t want to die. He could barely hear Katie’s frantic, ear-piercing wails from where she was locked in the house over the pounding of blood in his ears.

“Disgusting!” Gerard roared at him and kicked his hip, sending Chris falling to the ground again.

“So you’re a homophobic bastard as well as a racist?” Chris spat out when he got his breath back.

“You think that is the problem here? The Hale Alpha _himself_ drops you off on my door step and you think I care about you taking it up the ass?”

Chris managed to pull himself up to his knees, feeling the blood start to drip down his face and body as gravity took over.

Gerard stomped over and crouched in front of him, finger wagging in his face. “You were fucking a werewolf! You couldn’t just go into town and wet your dick in some bar floozie?” Gerard stood up and paused, looking down. Chris held his breath but it did nothing to stop the bloom of pain when Gerard backhanded him hard enough to send him sprawling on the ground again. “You’re lucky the alpha didn’t gut you, boy.”

Not that it mattered to Gerard, but Alpha Hale had threatened to do just that when he found Chris and Peter naked in their hotel room. Peter had begged for Chris’s life, and Chris had no doubt that Alpha Hale would be taking it out Peter’s hide. If Talia had not been there as well to calm her father down, it might have ended up with Chris and Peter sharing a very shallow grave. Which was where Chris was headed, if his father kept winding himself up. Chris remembered what happened to his mother.

An idea glistened like blood, oily and slippery in his grasp. He mumbled it out before he even had a chance to weigh it rationally.

“What?” Gerard leaned over him, suspicious.

“It was…it was a trick, I swear to God!” Chris choked on the words, but it was too late to turn back. The truth would get him killed; a lie would at least buy him time. “I was trying to get him to tell me about their den. I thought…he might.” He stopped and gasped for breath though what was definitely a broken rib. “He might tell me things.”

Gerard stood up straight again, folding his arms over his chest. “Really? And what the hell would he tell you that we can’t get through binoculars?”

“Their house is old. Werewolves always put in escape routes, that’s why we can never smoke them out. Right?”

Gerard’s head tilted, almost like a dog’s. Chris pushed that thought away.

“I thought if he trusted me, he might tell me about their precautions. Tunnels, wards, whatever.” Done talking, Chris just let himself collapse back on the ground with a wheezing cough.

“And you didn’t think to tell your old man about this brilliant idea?” Gerard snorted in derision.

“Like you’d have let me fuck a werewolf? Even for that?” That much, at least, wasn’t a lie.

Gerard grumbled, turning the confession over in his mind. “It’s a pretty nasty thought, son.”

 _Son._ Chris held back on the relief he felt at the word. It meant Gerard was back in the land of the sane. Chris might live through the day.

Gerard rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “The payoff, though.” He glanced over to where Katie was still crying and pounding on the windows. Chris crawled forward to pull his attention away from her.

“It was…it was a mistake. I’m sorry.”

Gerard nodded. “Alpha Hale is threatening to go to Ginny with this. Blow back might get us ostracized.”

Why Gerard was so scared of being thrown out of the hunting community by Aunt Genevieve baffled Chris. The old man hated his sister and he hated the code and he hated werewolves. Whatever his reasons, it might for the time being work in Chris’s favor.

“So we go to the alpha. I’ll confess. You make a deal to keep him from going to the matriarch. Promise to, I don’t know, beat the shit out of me or something.” Chris rolled over and gingerly managed to sit up.

Gerard glared at him. “We go to the alpha, but you keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking.” He walked back into the house, ignoring Katie as she ran past him to get to Chris, who pulled her into a hug despite the blood and pain. She was no stranger to either, and he needed the comfort as much as she did.

He had a feeling that things would get worse before they got better.

\-----------

Everything dialed down to the hot breath Chris felt on his neck, the presence of Peter over him, the anticipation of death.

Peter hummed but didn’t move, long enough that Chris started thinking about how to get to one of his knives. He kept his eyes closed as Peter shifted above him, and as if reading his mind, started divesting him of all his other weaponry with his free hand.

“What do you do with something you break?” He asked the question like a disappointed school teacher.

Chris opened his eyes, trying to suss out the non-sequitur and why he was still alive. “Fix it?”

“Do you? Or do you throw it out?”

“Depends.” Chris tried to squirm backwards a little, but Peter slammed his hand down on his chest, holding him in place.

He had a solemn expression on his face, his bright eyes boring into Chris. “The Japanese have a technique for fixing pottery, where the break is repaired with gold lacquer—”

“Kintsugi.” Chris nodded. He only knew the term because Allison had written a school paper about it once. Just saying the word made him feel ill with grief. He looked up at Peter, directly into his eyes. “Neither one of us is ever getting repaired.”

“Speak for yourself, Christopher,” Peter snarled the words through a smile. He moved faster than Chris could even react, picking him up and throwing him down the hall like a sack of potatoes. Nothing broke but the wind was knocked out of Chris, and he rolled onto his side, instinctively trying to drag himself away from the monster prowling up on him.

“Valack tried to pick me apart like unraveling a sweater, but all he did was pour gold into the cracks. Sometimes you push something so hard they come back around the other way.” He lowered his head, his eyes flashing their dangerous blue again and his teeth sharpening. “He gave me gold and I put myself back together, more whole and unbroken than I’ve been since…well. Since the last time you fucked me.”

Chris froze in horror, his brain scrambling. “You…you remember.”

“Oh yes, Christopher. I _remember_.” He smiled, mouth full of sharp teeth.

\------------

“I thought you and your spawn would be long gone, hunter,” Alpha Hale said. He was a mountain of a man, with heavy eyebrows and broad shoulders. His wife and children were dwarfed standing next to him, although Talia at least looked just as fierce. Peter’s nostrils were flaring as he took in Chris’s obvious and not-so-obvious damage, but he stayed put.

“What, you don’t believe in true love?” Gerard said, sounding like a snake oil salesman. Chris was surprised the alpha wasn’t throwing them down the driveway like footballs.

Alpha Hale snorted. “You’re lucky I’m letting any of you live through this, but I know your matriarch will deal with you.”

“Well, see, that’s what we’re here to talk about. I’d rather you not go to her with this.”

Alpha Hale’s eyebrows raised high on his face, clearly expressing his surprise at the request, but he remained quiet, waiting.

“If you go to my sister with this Romeo-Juliet nonsense first thing she’s going to do is haul my ass in for questioning. And my son.” Gerard flapped a dismissive hand at Chris. Chris jolted just a little with the realization that Gerard was telling the truth. Of course Aunt Genevieve would question them in person. _Of course_. He blinked several times trying to push down his panic, but Peter tilted his head in confusion, watching Chris closely.

Alpha Hale sighed. “I don’t care, hunter. You deal with your own, that’s how it is.”

Gerard huffed and spared a quick, vicious glance at Chris. “Look. This is going to sound bad, and as a father, I’m not proud of my son right now. As a father and as a _hunter._ ”

For the first time, Alpha Hale looked curious.

“Chris is a bit overzealous. High strung, really, takes after his dear departed mother.”

Chris nearly swallowed his tongue, instead focusing on Katie, who was glued to his leg and looking up at the werewolves with awe and fear.

“I don’t approve of what he did, and neither will his aunt. My sister runs a strict organization, you know that. She’ll interrogate him and the truth will come out and he’ll be kicked out of the hunting community.”

“For seducing my son?” Alpha Hale squinted at Gerard. “Seems harsh but again, your rules. I don’t care.”

“I know you don’t care, for fuck’s sake, but _I do_. I’ll be blunt: this isn’t the first time a hunter has gone for a roll in the hay with a werewolf. You and I both know that.”

Nodding his head, Alpha Hale conceded the point.

“If that was the issue, I’d already be heading up to Montana. But it’s not, and the second my sister figures that out, Chris will be ostracized, and I’ll lose my son. Do you get that?”

“What is the issue, then?” All the werewolves tensed at the suspicious thick in the alpha’s question.

Gerard rubbed his face, his act going from con-man to sincere, worried father like flipping a switch. “He set out to gain your son’s confidence, and was going to use what he found out to attack your den.” He held his hands wide in supplication, a show of trust.

Alpha Hale was growling, his claws coming in, as Peter’s eyes widened. He stepped backwards. Talia moved to stand behind him and grabbed his arms, pinning him in place. “What?” Peter shook his head as if to clear it, then looked at Chris, horror and anger sparking as his eyes flickered to beta-gold.

“Admittedly not part of our code, you understand,” Gerard said affably. Chris noted that Gerard stopped short of saying that he, personally, disapproved of the idea – he knew better than to lie to wolves.

“So you’re here to turn him over to us for justice?” Alpha Hale asked through sharp teeth. Katie whined into Chris’s jeans, holding on with her tiny, fragile hands.

“Let’s not be hasty! He’s my son. He’s young and perhaps a little too zealous. Call me a sentimental old fool, but I’d rather not lose him over something silly like this _misunderstanding_.”

Peter set to a low, steady growling as he stared at Chris.

There was nothing Chris could do to answer him. Both of their lives hung in the balance. Alpha Hale would in no way offer Chris and – more importantly – Katie shelter if he came clean. He was regretting his decision not to go with Peter’s suggestion to pit their fathers against each other, but it was too late.

He put his shaking hand on Katie’s head and promised himself that he would come back, he would _explain_ , he would beg forgiveness – anything. He would do _anything_ for Peter, even pretend to betray him if it meant they might still have a future someday, but the most important part of that plan was to get out of their current mess alive.

Gerard was still talking. “Let _me_ deal with my son. Let _me_ teach him the error of his ways. This way he’ll have someone looking over his shoulder, making sure he follows the Code, instead of simply being cut loose to go wreak havoc somewhere.”

“This is worthy of war, Argent,” Alpha Hale said, visibly readying for a fight.

Gerard stood up straight. “I came here in good faith, Hale.”

“You want to bargain?” Alpha Hale barked out a laugh, and everyone flinched. Except Peter, who was still staring at Chris with murder in his eyes. Chris looked away.

“Yes.” Gerard nodded and crossed his arm, leaving it at that.

Alpha Hale narrowed his eyes and finally looked directly at Chris, who tightened his hold on Katie. She was crying, but quietly, muffling her whimpers into his jeans. He looked back at the alpha steadily, keeping his mind blank even as his heart was breaking. The silence continued for a long time until the alpha spoke again.

“You take your trash out, and we’ll handle our own. As long as you make sure hunters – all hunters, not just Argents – steer clear of Beacon County and adjacent Hale territories, we’ll pretend this never happened.”

Gerard gave the werewolf a narrow-eyed glare. “That’s it?”

Alpha Hale rolled his eyes, and Chris could see where Peter got it from. “What’s in it for me is getting hunters permanently out of my territory. Forcing the matter with Genevieve Argent will only get _your son_ off the table, nothing else, and I could just as easily do that by ripping his throat out.”

Katie’s breath hitched and Chris stood stock still, but Gerard laughed. “Good point. Okay. I’ll keep hunters out of Beacon if you keep this between us. But!” He pointed at Peter, who was still squirming in his sister’s iron-clad hold. “What about him? His pride’s been injured, he’ll come after my boy.”

Alpha Hale raised an expressive eyebrow. “Are you saying your son couldn’t handle it?”

Chris tensed, wondering if it was going to come down to a death match between him and Peter – not that Peter didn’t look invested in that idea, because he did. Peter bought the story because Chris had been forbidden from speaking and Gerard believed he was telling the truth, and even Chris could see that the werewolf was planning to rip out his throat for the perceived betrayal.

Gerard stabbed his finger in Peter’s direction again. “I’m saying you need to give me your word that your fucking mutt won’t come after my _family_.”

Peter growled again but Talia shook him like a puppy. There was no mistaking the fact that tiny, maternal, cookie-baking Talia was going to be the next Alpha Hale. Not soon enough, Chris thought grimly. But as soon as it happened, he would be back. That thought was all that kept him from breaking under Peter’s hate filled glare.

“Don’t worry, Argent. He won’t remember a thing.” Alpha Hale flicked his claws quickly, there and gone again. Chris’s stomach dropped.

“What?” Peter yelled. “What? No! I get this fight!” He struggled against Talia, who looked surprised and somewhat sick herself, but she did not let go of him.

“Shut up, cub, I could do worse. You put our whole pack in danger,” the alpha snapped his teeth at Peter, who instinctively cringed backwards, sending Talia stumbling a step.

Gerard nodded once and turned his back to the wolves – a show of trust, or disdain? Chris couldn’t decide and was not in a position to figure it out. He picked Katie up and walked quickly to their SUV, buckling her in the backseat as Alpha Hale descended on Peter.

Gerard peeled away from the house quickly while Peter’s furious, betrayed howls rang in Chris’s ears until the sounds finally faded into the forest. He must have looked as bad as he felt, because Gerard frowned at him.

“Don’t worry, son.” Gerard patted his knee. “That alpha-claw trick should suck all those memories out of that mutt. He won’t even remember your name, after this. Hell, he’ll be lucky to remember his own! Not that you couldn’t take him, of course.” Gerard actually chuckled. “But for now this is a damn clean getaway.” He looked into the rearview mirror at Katie. “Don’t worry, sweetheart! We’ll come back someday and take care of the Hales. You know why?”

“Because we hate werewolves, Daddy!” Katie hiccupped, her tears already drying on her face.

\------------

Blind panic took over and Chris scrambled, ignoring the sharp pain of bruises and small cuts. There was no amount of training that would help him, he knew that, but adrenaline spiked and he tried to bolt. The instinct for survival overrode everything.

Peter gave him a second to rally but was back on him in an instant, slamming him facedown down on the floor and stepping on his tailbone, claws delicately wrapping around Chris’s throat again as he crouched down. “Now, where were we?”

“Fuck!” Chris tried to throw him off anyway.

“Why Chris, if I didn’t know better I’d think you’re in a panic. Hunters don’t _panic_ , do they?” His voice dropped into a low, reverberating growl. “What would your father say?”

The very mention of Gerard made Chris’s blood chill to ice in his veins. He stopped moving and his brain hit ‘pause’ as he focused on pulling himself back from the brink of raw terror.

“Hm. Still his minion? After all this time?”

“I’ve always hated him, you know that.” At the uptick in Peter’s growl, Chris huffed. “You used to know that. I thought you said you _remember_.”

“I remember your lies!” Peter raked claws down Chris’s right arm, shredding his shirt and slicing his skin open. He felt the blood pouring out as he ground his teeth together to keep from screaming. They were not deep wounds but seemed to hurt more for it – and gave him an idea of exactly how slow his death was going to be at Peter’s hands.

Peter stood up and kicked Chris in the side, sending him rolling over and sprawling up against a wall. Chris couldn’t stop the immediate yelp of pain but managed to hold back the groan of agony his bruised ribs inspired.

“No one’s coming in time to save you, Christopher. No one is going to negotiate for your life.” Peter grabbed an arm and hauled him to his feet. “I get to take my time skinning you.” He held up his other hand and flicked his claws out.

“I thought you always preferred a clean kill,” Chris said, trying to keep his heart from going haywire.

“That was before my mind was _raped_ by my father, before I nearly burned alive, before I went insane locked in my body!” Peter bared his teeth. “I always wondered why my father treated me like a pariah, why my brain felt wrong, why Talia kept me at arm’s length. Those memories were so tightly locked up that nothing ever worked right for me again after that. Even dying and coming back to life didn’t fix me. No, for that, someone needed to go deep into my brain and mess around with the wiring.” He walked off, dragging Chris behind him, his hand a steel band around Chris’s bloody arm. “I went from being Talia’s left hand in training to the family outcast, and I never knew why. I had suspicions, blank spots in my memories, nightmares. But I didn’t _know._ ”

He shoved Chris into his own cell. There was a thick trail of blood leading out of it; Chris assumed it was from Valack being dragged from the room. Peter stood up straight while Chris oriented himself.

Peter caught him looking at the blood trail. “Took him down to Polly’s cell.”

Chris tried not to wince. There wouldn’t be much of a corpse left after the wendigo got through with it.

“Didn’t want him dirtying up my plans for you. This is for us.” Peter grinned.

“Charming as your seduction techniques always are, I think this just proves that you’re still insane,” Chris said, standing up straight despite the acid-like feel of the cuts and the throbbing pain of bruises forming deep under his skin.

“I’m okay with that, Christopher. I think I’ve earned it.” Peter shrugged, charming as ever despite looking feral in his dirty, bloody hospital scrub pants and long, mangey hair. “I had a choice between getting out of here alive, and killing you. I went with option B.”

“So then, you _know_ Scott will kill you for this.”

“Honestly? No. I expect Stiles will. He’s the left hand of that pack. He’ll clean up the mess.” The words were said with a soft, fond smile, and for a moment Chris remembered what Peter was like in their private moments, all those years ago, when Peter would talk about his younger brothers or his nieces and nephews.

“Peter—” Chris felt one hand lifting up, as if to reach out to the werewolf.

“ _Don’t act like you care!_ ” Peter screamed at him, eyes flaring blue and his jaw elongating as the change rippled over him. “You can’t trick me this time!” He stalked over and backhanded Chris across his face, nearly breaking his jaw. Chris tumbled backwards with the force of the impact, hands flying up to protect his head from further attacks.

Peter grabbed his arm to yank him back and Chris launched into the momentum, using the element of surprise – however brief – to punch two quick jabs at Peter’s ribcage. At least one rib snapped, and Peter stifled a howl of pain. The rule with werewolves, one Gerard had literally beaten into Chris’s brain, was to always go for bone in hand to hand combat. Without a blade there was no way to do enough damage to soft tissue or organs to slow them down, it was always better to break things like joints and hands and spine.

With that in mind Chris kept going, plowing bodily into Peter and stomping on one foot as he jammed his elbow into Peter’s solar plexus. Bones crunched under his heel and Peter let out an “oof” of breath before he slammed his fist into Chris’s gut. He had tried to tense his muscles for impact but Peter was a werewolf, there was more force behind his fist than Chris could brace for and he stumbled backwards in a blinding haze of pain. He readied himself to be attacked and taken down, one hand on his stomach and the other held across his chest and face to protect against claw swipes.

But Peter didn’t attack. His eyes were blazing electric blue and bright with excitement. He paced in front of Chris like the predator he was, hands flexing, the claws on his feet click-clacking across the floor.

It was a place that was almost familiar, too similar to how they used to spar to be an accident. Of course back then it was mostly foreplay, a way to work out their respective anger at their fathers before getting down to kissing and fucking. Back then it had seemed like they never came together without bruising each other up first.

The stakes were different, though. Peter had forfeit his chance at freedom just for the opportunity to kill the hunter who broke his heart. Chris was not getting out of that room alive, and they both knew it. It gave him enough of an adrenaline rush to break with tradition and go on the offense. He swung with both arms, and Peter easily blocked his right but misjudged his left and another rib got broken for his overconfidence. Snarling, Peter hit Chris in the abdomen again.

It took his breath away but was hardly a lethal blow. “Why are you holding out? C’mon, you bastard, fight me.” Chris taunted, his mouth barely working.

On cue, Peter burst into a flurry of motion, punching and kicking Chris all the way across the room – hits meant to hurt, but not damage. He didn’t use his claws, which could have easily nicked an artery, and he did not go for Chris’s neck or eye or, for that matter, his dick. Chris ended up on his hands and knees anyway, swinging his fist to block a kick and ending up with two broken fingers on his left hand for it, although it unseated Peter enough to send him hopping backwards a step. Chris launched up off the floor and tackled Peter, bringing him down with him. Chris took the fraction of a moment that he had the upper hand to punch Peter in the nose, which broke with a satisfactory crunch.

Peter grabbed at his bullet proof vest and, hauling him up like a rag doll, threw him across the room to land on the bed. Chris was dazed but too well trained to just stop, already rolling off the mattress when Peter was suddenly on top of him, using his claws to cut the vest’s straps. It turned into a wrestling match as Peter stripped him of the vest and his utility belt, throwing them across the room. He held Chris down with one hand on his chest, straddling his lap. It was enough to make Chris pause, given all the deep bruising of his stomach and what was surely at least a cracked rib of his own.

Peter sat there, breathing heavily. “I want to kill you so much, Christopher, it’s hard to hold back,” he said with a snarl, his voice lispy and coarse through sharp teeth, his free hand flexing into a fist and releasing again, over and over.

Chris breathed in through his nose, trying to move his jaw as little as possible. “You never were very patient.” He coughed out the words, his chest sharp with pain from the inside out, but no blood came up.

Peter snorted. “You pretended to love it,” Peter smirked, letting his claws out as his hand pushed against Chris’s chest.

“Because I loved you,” Chris said, the words spilling out in pain and hopelessness. And that was it, for him, the last rite he needed: confession. He still loved Peter and probably always would, but everything terrible that had happened to them and their families was, in the end, on Chris’s head. It was hardly the first time since Alison died that he had thought about dying, or at least being dead. Now it was coming to him like a gift.

Peter went still. Down the hall, Tanya howled, and some creatures scurried around, trying to escape her, and Chris was sure that outside of the ward Scott’s pack would soon descend to wreak havoc on the place. But for the moment it was just him and Peter, alone, and it made Chris’s heart ache to think that he finally was going to be truly free of all the grief.

“Liar.” Peter snarled the word but softly, gently.

“As if I could ever lie to you.” Chris put his own bloody hand over Peter’s, pressing the clawed fingers against his chest, over his heart. He sighed. “Do it, Petey. It’s time.”

“You deserve it.” Peter flexed his fingers, the claws drawing blood again, but he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

“I do. I really do.” Chris tried not to laugh, the pain lancing through him when he failed.

But Peter just perched there, crouched on top of Chris on the bed more like a bird than a wolf. He tilted his head, studying Chris. “You really want to die.” He sounded disappointed. “You’re not even trying to fight back. Why?”

Chris smiled, his jaw hurting from the strain. “I always loved you. I always will.”

Peter blinked at him in confusion.

“Petey.” Chris reached up and gently pulled Peter’s face down to his, brushing their lips together. He wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore, drifting on pain and the hope, the prayer, that Peter would end this for him, because for all the fights he had lived through, Chris knew he was a coward in the end and needed someone else to do this for him.

“You think I’ll spare you for a kiss?” Peter whispered, his breath ghosting over Chris’s cheek.

“I know you won’t.”

Peter brutally launched himself into the kiss, all blunt teeth and snarling lips. There was hardly a point where their bodies touched that didn’t hurt Chris, pain flaring high as he moved his arms to wrap around Peter’s shoulders to pull him down closer. Peter, still kissing like a thief, all but collapsed on top of him. Chris’s left hand throbbed and was all but useless with the broken fingers already starting to swell, but he skimmed his right hand up and down Peter’s back in familiar, soothing motions.

Peter pressed against one hand his neck and broke off the kiss, frowning. He grabbed both of Chris’s wrists and shoved his arms up over his head, the move so sudden and jerky that Chris yelled in pain as it wrenched his already throbbing shoulder. He ended up laughing, mouth wide open, nearly shaking with it. Or shock. He didn’t know anymore. Peter locked one of his hands around both wrists and pushed them into the mattress, forcing Chris to arch up. He was in heavy canvas BDU pants but Peter was only wearing the thin cotton hospital pajamas and reacted with a long shudder at the sensation.

“If only I had time to make this hurt,” Peter purred, biting down on the tendon in Chris’s neck.

Chris just laughed again, because he was in so much pain it wouldn’t take much to make it hurt more, and at that point he was floating on the mix of adrenaline and endorphins and lust anyway.

“You crazy fucker,” Peter hissed, rolling his hips to grind down, pressing their dicks together painfully.

“One for the road, Petey,” Chris whispered as his laughter died off in pain.

Peter made a guttural, desperate noise and ground down again, then again, bowing up over Chris until their only points of contact were their dicks and Peter’s hold on his wrists. “Lying to me again? Making me think you ever cared?” He snapped his teeth, which were growing sharp again as he continued thrusting. Chris bent his legs and planted his feet as best he could and tried to meet his thrusts, his own dick hard and leaking where it was pressed painfully against the buttons of his pants.

There was no point to argue, no reason to explain. He could take this from Peter, something for himself for all the Peter was trying to make it his punishment. His breath caught and he tipped his head back, giving to the werewolf the one thing he was always warned never to give: his complete submission.

“Oh, God.” Peter whined and pushed his hips down hard enough that their hip bones collided painfully, but then paused. He opened his mouth and placed it over the adam’s apple of Chris’s neck, barely biting, just holding on, holding him down, as they raced for their climax. As Chris’s spine started to tingle in pleasure and not pain, he gasped and Peter responded with a subvocal growl that Chris could _feel_ all the way to his (probably broken) toes. The sensation collided with everything his heart had held locked up for so many years and he came with Peter’s name a ghost of a whisper from his lips, his body pulled agonizingly taught as his orgasm slammed through his nerves.

Peter’s growl turned loud and stuttered as he followed Chris over the precipice, his hips thrusting madly and off rhythm three times before he stilled completely. Slowly, his body relaxed and collapsed on top of Chris. His hold on Chris’s wrists loosened enough for Chris to slowly, carefully, pull his arms down and prop them up against Peter’s upper arms, their elbows touching on the mattress. They stayed quiet for just a moment before Peter spoke.

“Did you lie to me?” Peter panted against his neck, still shivering in the aftermath of his orgasm.

“All the time,” Chris sighed, running his fingers through Peter’s too long hair.

“Christopher. Enough.”

Chris let out a heavy breath, his own aftermath dialing down enough for pain to creep back into his consciousness. “Gerard…he did not take it will when your father dropped me off.”

Peter drew back, hands flat on the mattress by Chris’s head. The gears were turning in his mind, Chris could almost see the pieces being put together like a jigsaw puzzle. Peter snarled. “That’s why you were beat to hell. You were bleeding.” He closed his eyes and inhaled through his nose. “I thought Alpha did that to you.”

Chris filed away the fact that long after the man’s death, Peter’s father was still “Alpha” to him – in the same way Chris’s father would always be “Gerard.”

“No. Gerard did that. He was going to kill me, Peter, right there in front of Katie. I…I should have let him.” He looked off to the side, ignoring the twinge in his neck and the throbbing that was returning to his jaw.

Peter placed fingers gently against his face, and the pain receded again. “You told him it was a set up, that you tricked me.”

Chris nodded, had to think for a moment to dreg the words up. “I was going to come back for you. When the heat was off, when Talia took over, I was going to grab Katie and come back. But your father took you from me. He took _everything_.” He squeezed his eyes closed, willing the tears back.

“Fuck.” Peter breathed out the word so slowly that Chris could barely hear it.

“ _Fuck_!” Scott’s yell reverberated through the room as loud as a gunshot. Chris looked over at the kid who was standing in the doorway, one hand over his nose as his bright red eyes focused on Peter. “You sick bastard!”

Chris realized dimly that Scott was probably smelling their cum and all their blood, and taking in the way Peter’s body was caging in Chris’s on the bed. “Wait, Scott—”

“Move!” Sheriff Stilinski pushed past Scott with his gun raised, aiming for Peter’s heart. Chris knew the weapon was loaded with wolfsbane bullets, and tried to raise his hands up, although to do what he had no clue. Peter let out a low warning growl, his eyes flashing blue and his body tensing up for attack.

In that strange way that Chris was too familiar with in battle, time slowed down. The sheriff was committed to the shot, and Scott was already well into his beta shift. Chris used what strength he had and sat up hard and fast, shoving Peter against the wall and covering him with his own body just as the Sheriff pulled the trigger. Peter moved, their collision throwing him off balance just enough to collapse under Chris.

The gunshot was too loud in the small space and the impact threw him up against Peter, who roared. Chris barely heard him though, his thoughts dialing down slowly in shock and pain, looking up at Peter who was staring at him in horror, his fully human features twisted with emotion. Time kicked back into gear and Chris dimly heard shouting as he fell onto the mattress with a thud. All he could see was Peter’s beautiful beta-gold eyes…

…and then Chris’s world finally, mercifully, went dark, the golden light from Peter's eyes seeping into the cracks.

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING/SPOILER: Chris gets shot, and the last line of the story could be read as his death.  
> That’s usually not how I end stories. But I figured it would take another 5k at least to get to any kind of happier resolution, and I was working on a deadline. Sorry? *grimaces* It’s entirely possible that Chris is still alive, though!!! I promise! I’m even toying with the idea of a sequel/continuation, maybe, especially if the giftee asks for it.


End file.
